


five a day

by IrisParry



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Board Games, Definitely Not Cuddling, Dirty Talk, M/M, Non-monogamous Relationship, Pumpkin Spice Lattes, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sickfic, probably more tags to be added lbr, salad vegetables, vague TLJ spoiler in the chapter 10 notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux and Kylo are flatmates who hate each other and are also sleeping together. Sometimes there are vegetables. This is all a mistake.</p><p>Two tumblr askbox prompts got sort of out of hand: "cucumber" and "watermelon." Then there were sequels. I don't know what I'm doing. Content note: nobody fucks a watermelon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cucumber

“Ren! I know you’re in there!”

Hux pounds on the door, not going anywhere despite Kylo’s attempts to ignore him and cling on to the blissful sleep of five minutes ago. Kylo rolls out of bed with a groan, scrabbling around for underwear.

Kylo opens the door to see Hux frozen with his fist raised, clearly just about to start hammering again. Hux’s eyes flick up and down before he stops himself, and he twists his face into a sneer. “Do you have any respect for boundaries? Put some bloody clothes on to answer your door."

“It’s two o'clock in the fucking morning, Mr Personal Boundaries.” Kylo stretches his arm up to lean on the door frame, puts his weight on one hip. “And if you don’t like it, don’t look.”

Hux folds his arms across his chest. “You are ridiculous,” he grits out. His left eye twitches.

“How much coffee have you had?” Kylo’s been hearing Hux move around the apartment late at night the past week or so, rolled in half-drunk just before sunrise Saturday morning to find him sitting at the kitchen table, diagrams and tables of figures spread around his laptop and his fussy French press coffeemaker.

"Stop changing the subject.”

Kylo has no idea what the fucking subject is. “Goodnight, Hux."

Hux puts his foot in the door when Kylo goes to close it, pushing it open and stepping over the threshold. “You can _not_ keep helping yourself to my food.”

"You pushing your way into my room at ass o'clock is a much bigger problem than telling apart shit in the fridge!”

"Telling apart - ” Hux snorts, incredulous. “Everything of mine in that fridge is clearly labelled, because of just this kind of - ” He’s in the middle of honestly waving his fucking finger when he breaks off, and at first Kylo thinks his face must look as murderous as he feels. 

Hux’s face goes oddly blank. He’s looking at something behind Kylo. 

"That’s my cucumber,” he says faintly.

Kylo will not wince. He will not blush, he will not permit it. He reminds himself Hux is a whiny little prick who has no absolutely right to be here, in his room, judging him.

"Alright, it’s time for you to go.” He steps forward, trying to hustle Hux toward the door. 

"On your floor. Next to your bed.” Hux is shaking his head, amusement bubbling up in his tone as he connects the dots.

"Points for observation. Get out.” Kylo puts his hand on Hux’s shoulder, and Hux stiffens, resists the push. 

“The courgettes weren’t good enough, then?” Hux says, looking from the cucumber to Kylo again, eyes glittering with malicious delight. “Too small? Overripe?”

Kylo leans his face close. Maybe he can brazen his way out of this. “You can have it back. It’s still shrinkwrapped.” 

"Still got my name written on it,” Hux says, not backing off an inch.

A treacherous heat burns Kylo’s cheeks; he’d known that, the whole time. He straightens, hands dropping in fists at his sides. He glares at Hux. “You are so - ” 

"Anal?” Hux says cheerfully. 

"Fuck off.” He steps past Hux and holds the door open wider.

Hux snorts, shakes his head again. He stops in front of Kylo as he leaves, doesn’t bother to conceal his look up and down this time. This close Kylo can see him run his tongue over his teeth before he speaks.

"Listen to me, you little pervert,” he says, soft and low so Kylo has to strain to hear him. He presses his fingertips lightly to Kylo’s chest. “Listen to me, you will _not_ ,” he pushes firmly for emphasis, “ _fuck_ yourself,” he pushes again, harder, with each word, “with any of my _fucking_ groceries again, do you hear?”

Kylo swallows. “Get out.” Hux really needs to get out. Hux’s hand is still on his chest.

"Do you _hear_?”

" _Yes_.“

Hux smiles viciously, and with a final glance at the cucumber, he turns and leaves, a new spring in his step. Kylo slams the door closed behind him, hears Hux’s a moment after.

Kylo barely hears the message alert, about half an hour later, doesn’t check his phone til he’s finished, twice, cleaned up and sprawled across his bed. 

It’s from Hux. There’s a [website address.](http://selfdelve-shop.de/Garten-Eden:::2.html?language=en&ref=4)

> Free shipping. No sell-by date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to wgx in the comments for tracking down the website Hux texts Kylo. Those things are Art.


	2. watermelon

Kylo's phone buzzes while he's on the night bus back from training. He fishes it out of his pocket, looks long enough to register Hux's name before he slaps it screen down onto his thigh. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. The kid across the aisle looks warily at him, hand slowing in its journey from the paper takeaway bag.

Kylo has successfully avoided Hux for almost a week. Lying in bed, still sweaty and flushed, he'd started a half dozen replies to Hux's link, ranging from _i hate you_ to _what do you recommend?_ but deleted them all and put his phone on silent for the rest of the night. Hux has still been working late, at home and the office, but Kylo has been out a lot too, legitimately: he's still working on the paper about the Italian fencing treatises, and preparation for the tournament has him training pretty hard. A few nights he's just crashed at one of the guys' places afterwards, or they've spent hours in the pub talking about the competition, strategy. Mitaka and Phasma are back, so when Kylo has seen Hux it's been in passing and in company.

It couldn't last, though. His phone buzzes a second time, the reminder alert. If Hux was going to try to embarrass him he's had ample opportunity. He doesn't have the evidence for a proper attempt at blackmail. His sarcasm isn't half as withering as he thinks it is. Kylo can handle him. He grits his teeth and opens the message.

> I was genuinely curious about the courgette, you know.

Casually conversational is not a tone Kylo and Hux have ever struck in person, let alone in a text message about Kylo's sexual practices. Huh. He shoots back:

_curious enough to keep thinking about it_

It's about 1am, so Hux is probably back at the flat. Has his big project or whatever concluded, or is he just taking a quick break to taunt Kylo about vegetables? Fuck knows, but he replies pretty quickly.

> In summer I came home to find a watermelon on the side with a hole cut in it. I'd assumed it was filled with vodka, but now I'm questioning everything.

_wtf the texture is all wrong for_ \- Anything, Kylo is thinking, whichever way you wanted it, but he deletes the words because he's damned if he'll let Hux know he just made him consider whether he'd fuck a watermelon. He's still scowling at his phone when another message arrives.

> I can't quite work out whether you'd try the plug or the hole.

Jesus.

_why are u so interested_

> It's my produce. I want to know what you'd be doing with it.

  
Kylo glances out at the rest of the top deck of the bus, absurdly checking whether anyone is looking. Whether anyone knows he might be sexting his asshole flatmate about watermelon. A man in front of him is snoring loudly, and the kid's attention is back on his fries.

_are we still talking about fruit_

> I can sustain the painful metaphors a little longer if you would find that helpful.

> For all I know, talk of smooth, hard rind and juicy pink flesh might be what gets you going. I'm reasonably accommodating.

Hux is sexting him. Condescendingly, but he's definitely doing it. Hux is sexting him, and he thinks he has a fruit and vegetable fetish, and he's apparently sort of fine with that. Wow. Kylo's never seen Hux bring anyone back to the flat, and Phas has never mentioned him seeing anyone. He knows pretty much nothing about that side of Hux - or indeed any side, he supposes - but had imagined him painfully vanilla, easy to shock and fluster.

_i don't need fruit talk thanks_

_or veg_

_or really any kind of food idk it usually ends up messy_

_not in a good way_

_that was a one off with the thing_

_I don't have thing for them_

_really its not a thing_

> You've made your point.

> Was that your first time with anything?

_no_

> It did seem a bit ambitious for a virgin, but reckless overconfidence wouldn't surprise me. Did you do it again after I left?

Only Hux would sneer at someone before asking to hear about them playing with their ass. He's maddening, even at this.

 _twice. the first time didn't really count but_ With Hux waiting for a reply, Kylo can't quite think of how to boast about his refractory period without admitting how fast he'd gotten off the first time. He deletes.

_i did. are you sorry you didn't stay to watch_

> I expressly told you not to.

_what_

> I told you not to fuck yourself with my groceries again and you did it anyway, right away. Do you have so little self-control? Pathetic.

_okay youre being p sensitive for a guy who texted me out the blue to ask me if I'd fucked a watermelon_

> Christ, Ren, must I spell everything out? This is the part where you offer your humble apologies.

> From your knees, I think.

> So sorry, so shameful, so desperate to show me you can be good.

Kylo looks up when the bus jerks to a halt. He can feel his face heating up, but of course nobody is fucking looking. Nobody knows. On the lower deck the doors beep and close, and the bus moves off again.

_alright alright I didn't realise this was your thing but I should have fuckin known_

_im sorry, that was rude of me, and I've already been so bad_

_once I get my mouth on your dick I promise you'll forgive me_

_I'll make you forget all about it_

> But if I forget, how will I make sure you learn? I won't tolerate this behaviour a second time.

Kylo wipes the condensation off the window with the sleeve of his jacket, peers out to check where they are. A little while to go before his stop. Before he gets back to the flat, where right now Hux might have one hand on his cock, the other typing out weirdly hot S&M shit to send to Kylo. Does he want ... spanking? Is this a schoolteacher thing? Should there be a cane? Kylo doesn't really know how to talk about that. Imaginary missionary-with-the-lights-off Hux was way easier to handle.

_I know I'm so sorry_

_I swear I'll be good I'll do as I'm told_

_anything you want_

That'll probably do. In character and puts the ball back in Hux's court. He wants to be in charge so bad, after all.

> I do want to shut your insolent mouth, you're right.

_with your dick_

> Well, of course. You're making it seem like a better idea by the second. The only sound I want to hear from you is gagging.

Kylo doesn't mind giving head, though it's not like it's his favourite thing. The idea of Hux being rough with him, though ... the idea that this is what he's been thinking of every time they argued. Maybe Hux picks fights, just to get himself worked up. Okay, that works.

_you'd pull my hair, wouldn't you? you'd like that, moving me how you want_

_make me take it all_

_amd I could_

_you know what I can take_

> I'm not sure if youre talking about your throat or your arsehole now but I honestly don't care.

Fuck, Hux must be really into this to let his punctuation slip. He's thrown away any advantage he had in terms of intimate knowledge, and officially wants to work out their issues by fucking Kylo's mouth, and possibly caning. It's not how Kylo expected this situation to go, and it's definitely going to get him off in future one way or another. The fluorescent lighting and smell of kebabs is keeping him on a slow burn right now though. Thank fuck he's nearly home.

_like i said, whatever you want_

_whichever_

_are you jacking off right now_

> Where are you? Is an arrest for public indecency imminent?

_nearly home like five minutes_

_are you though_

Kylo catches sight of the church at the end of their street and presses the bell, shoulders his gym bag. He's making his way down the stairs when Hux texts again.

> Be discreet when you get in. Phasma and Mitaka are home.

Kylo grins, holding on to the bar as the bus brakes, bringing his phone close to keep texting with a thumb.

_so im coming to your room?_

Best to make sure.

> Immediately.

_where you're doing...?_

> Waiting.

_okay okay i just got off the bus_

Kylo half-jogs up the street from the stop, fumbling his keys out of his pocket. He keeps one eye on his phone at the door to the house, nearly drops it when it vibrates again.

> Stop off at the fridge.

Not long ago, Kylo would have said that was the weirdest sext he had ever received, but the bar has been raised. Moving quietly through the dark apartment, he puts down his bag in the kitchen and opens the fridge.

It's labelled REN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were just two cracky ask ficlets. There may never be more. Please be assured that Kylo and Hux do indeed have some form of sexual congress.


	3. pumpkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thing for Huxloween day 1 - pumpkin spice lattes. In my defence, I am currently in hospital and have received drugs. Does not follow directly on from the other chapters, though chronologically it's afterwards, there isn't a coherent storyline going on here or anything. The prompt just seemed to fit this verse neatly. I don't know.

Kylo's waiting for his order when he hears it. He's got his headphones pulled down around his neck, ready to exchange the usual brief but crucial words with the barista: these are getting progressively flirtier every time he visits, and he's calculated that _so, when do you go on break?_ will no longer be creepy by Friday. Ivan has this well-scrubbed clean-cut thing going on, but he also has a pierced tongue and the edges of a mysterious tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt and Kylo badly wants to confirm several theories.

Kylo’s perfected a casual lean on the counter that shows off his arms without being too obvious about it, but it's ruined when he whips around at the voice coming from the direction of the till.

"Triple tall Americano, black, take away." Hux is paying with the mobile app and shooting the server a tight smile that impresses the urgency of his caffeination. He carries a bulky portfolio on one shoulder, passes a hand needlessly over his smooth hair. He's in an alarmingly well-cut suit, a three-piece that’s slim in the leg and very flattering to his little ass, shows off that barely-there hint of rounding that's usually easier to feel than see. Behind the espresso machine, Ivan is licking a stray drop of syrup off his hand, flash of the tongue stud running along the edge of a long finger. These are unfair things to have to deal with at the same time.

Triple black Americano. The morning coffee of a very busy man with many very important things to do with his day, a man with no time to waste. Kylo rolls his eyes. With what he's learned about Hux from the man's bed, though, he wonders if he'll surreptitiously dump whole milk, five sugars and some of those weird 'vanilla' sprinkles in it. He is quite prone to fits of luxury when the mood takes him, luxury and infuriating, mind-blowing inefficiency.

Hux starts when he sees Kylo, but only for a second before his usual smooth exasperation snaps back into place. He walks down to wait for his coffee.

"Good morning," he says disinterestedly, tugs back his cuff to check his watch.

"What are you doing here?" Kylo comes here most mornings, even when Ivan doesn't work: it's on the way to both college and the training rooms, and it's a bit strange suddenly finding Hux in his space.

"I have a meeting across the road."

Ivan hands a caramel macchiato over to another customer. His dreamy dark eyes dart between Kylo and Hux with obvious curiosity. Kylo swallows. How to make clear that Hux is absolutely not his boyfriend without ruining his chances of going to bed with Hux again. How to work this out before coffee, and with Hux's ass and Ivan's tongue in such close proximity - wow, how to store that train of thought away til he's alone.

"I didn't see you on the way in," Kylo says, adjusting his backpack to allow him to shuffle a more discreet distance away from Hux. It's weird they didn't bump into each other leaving the flat or on the tube, with their timing this close.

Hux shoots him a contemptuous glance. "I’ve just finished my 7 o'clock."

"And that makes you a better person than me, clearly," Kylo deadpans.

"That and many other things," Hux replies placidly, staring into the middle distance.

"Pumpkin spice latte, K," Ivan holds it out, smiling, and Kylo's convinced himself he does this rather than leave it on the counter so their fingers will brush like in some cheesy rom-com. Kylo loves it. He feels _sparks_ , or whatever the fancy romantic word is for desperate urges to blow someone tenderly in a Starbucks restroom.

Hux snorts, and Ivan and Kylo both turn to him: Ivan with a raised eyebrow and Kylo with barely contained fury, because there was a narrow window for the line he'd been rehearsing about loving fall and Hux just slammed it shut. It was going to make Kylo seem sensitive and cute but also wry and self-aware.

Hux shrugs, smiles at Ivan a damn sight more convincingly than he did at the cashier. Asshole. "I suppose I will never understand why someone would want their coffee to taste like a vegetable," he says, and then he turns to Kylo with a thoughtful expression. "Although, it is _you_ ... "

Kylo barely registers the fleeting warmth of Ivan's fingers as he takes the cup. "Try it. You'll like it." Oh yeah, Hux will like it. He'll like it so much Phasma will bang on the wall and yell about _fucking feral alley cats!_  Hux is living in a glass house the size of the original Crystal Palace.

Kylo proffers the cup, and Hux wrinkles his nose. He turns to Ivan, who is still watching them both with interest while he runs the machine again. "Do you recommend it?" Hux asks, and he plasters his face with a mask of coy uncertainty. He bites his lip. It's astonishing.

Ivan smiles again, and it's a little pouty. What is happening? "K's got good taste," he tells Hux, and these men are going to be the death of Kylo.

Hux takes the coffee from Kylo, watches him with a raised eyebrow while he takes a sip. He doesn't spill a drop, so the things he does with his lips and tongue after are wholly unnecessary. "Hmm," he says, still smacking his lips. Ivan is openly smirking now. "Well, it's a little over the top. Fine for a seasonal product, I suppose."

"You're gonna want it all year round."

"Plenty of other drinks on the menu."

"Your triple Americano - Hicks?" There's amusement in Ivan's tone, and Kylo is barely grasping what it's about anymore. This is a nightmare. 

"Hux," Hux smiles. He takes the cup. Their fingers brush. "It's Hux. Thanks."

"No problem, Hux. Have a good day."

Hux turns to Kylo, lifts the latte out of his reach when he grabs for it. He takes another sip. "I think it's an acquired taste,” he says, handing it back. “Have a good day, _K_." He breezes out without looking back.  
 ~~~~


	4. cute-cumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey baby, if you were a vegetable, I bet you'd be a CUTEcumber".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this anon message on tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Hey baby, if you were a vegetable, I bet you'd be a CUTEcumber". I saw this bad pickup line and immediately thought of you. I'm sorry_
> 
>  
> 
> so of course Kylo had to send it to Hux.

Kylo pockets his phone with a grin, imagining the appalled grimace on Hux’s face. He’s on his way into his morning seminar so he tries not to think too much about what Hux’s other reactions might be. 

The first time Kylo had said it, he’d been trying to get a rise out of Hux. It was that kind of time where they were basically getting each other off out of spite, first one to come loses. Loses ... something. Whatever argument they’d been having that had been best settled in bed. Hux was dragging his nails up Kylo’s back, digging them into the meat of his ass while Kylo pounded into him, and Kylo was into it nearly as much as he was into the stream of filth Hux poured into his ear the whole time, crazy intense shit that it makes Kylo’s ears redden just to remember. Calling Kylo a _fucking animal_ , a _monster_ , talking about keeping him on a leash, chaining him up to his fucking radiator so he’d be there waiting whenever - anyway, Kylo had been just about losing his mind. In his desperation to even the score somehow, to make Hux as furious as that shit was meant to make him, he’d pressed his face close to Hux’s and moaned, _oh say it again, baby_. 

Another two B-words ( _you like that, baby? baby, so good for me_ ) and Hux had lost _spectacularly,_ making these amazing high whimpering noises Kylo had never gotten out of him before. He’d clamped his thighs around Kylo after and wouldn’t let him pull out, beating a fist weakly on his shoulder and calling him a bastard while he came down through great shuddering aftershocks. It was fucking excellent. A cliched pet name and some dirty talk out of softcore porn and Hux’s entire personality was a flaming car wreck: so awful Kylo couldn’t take his eyes off it. 

It’s a weapon to be deployed with care. Hux is even more of an asshole than usual afterwards, and overuse might make him call the whole arrangement off. It’s been a while, though, with plenty of the freaky shit Hux is more comfortable with. The things that man will do, but an affectionate nickname is his secret shame. Kylo wonders what his work schedule is like today, if he’ll get the text while he’s in a meeting and has to keep a straight face. His blushes are hard to hide. He should spend the day on a slow boil, pissed off and turned on and pissed off about being turned on. Just how Kylo likes him. 

Kylo checks his phone surreptitiously a couple of times during the seminar. No reply. The message has been delivered, though.

His phone sits next to the notebook he scribbles in at the coffee shop at lunch. A couple of times Kylo thinks it’s vibrating, but it’s just someone scraping back their chair nearby and shaking the table. 

Kylo helps run longsword drills for a group of beginners in the afternoon, and spars with a couple of the guys after. He makes a few trips to his bag at the side of the room, because that’s where his water bottle is and he’s exercising and he’s fucking thirsty and that’s perfectly fucking normal. He checks his fucking phone every time. Nothing. Fucking Hux.

He doesn’t go for drinks after training, because Hux has completely fucked up his mood and he’d be shitty company. He knows Hux read the stupid text, knows he screwed up his face and then thought about Kylo growling it into his ear while they fuck, and he _knows_ the absolute _shitheel_  is so into that he probably locked his office door and knocked one out over it. He’s done that before, which Kylo knows for sure thanks to Skype.

Kylo has no idea what his problem is today. Obviously Hux has a great many problems, most of them psychological, but which particular one - godfuckingdamnit. Kylo slams the front door of the flat, rattling the panes of glass in it. He’s been thinking about this bullshit most of the way home, and every time the bus went over a pothole or braked sharply it jarred his back against the seat, little flares of pain from the marks Hux left there.

He’s stomping straight through the kitchen, toward the hall at the back of the flat where his and Hux’s rooms are, but he stops short when he sees Hux at the stove. Phasma is pouring Mitaka a glass of red at the table, and they both look around at Kylo. 

“Hux is cooking,” Mitaka says, with a raised eyebrow that looks both alarmed and delighted. 

Hux turns, a wooden spoon in his hand, his face a picture of innocence. “Sit,” he says, gesturing at the table where he’s laid out plates and silverware. “There’s plenty to go around.”

Phasma’s raised eyebrow is vastly different to Mitaka’s. It says that she’s just worked out the malicious intent behind Hux’s sudden generosity. 

Kylo cannot think of anything he would rather do less than sit down at the kitchen table with Phasma and Mitaka for the next two or three hours and watch Hux put things in his fucking mouth. That motherfucker.  

“I already ate,” Kylo grits out.

Hux and Phasma and Mitaka have a lovely dinner, and at least two bottles of wine, over the next four hours. Their laughter carries. Kylo puts on his headphones. He sits with his back to the door, so he won’t notice the shadow of Hux’s feet passing by in the hall when the asshole goes to bed. 

Kylo has been staring unseeing at the same page of Oakeshott’s _Records Of The Medieval Sword_  for fuck knows how long when his phone vibrates in his pocket and he knocks his notes off his desk.

> Do not ever use a pun to try to get me to fuck you.

Kylo hates him. He hates him and he’s already getting hard and he hates Hux and he hates himself. He jams the heel of his hand between his legs and glares at his phone. He isn’t going to reply. Hux can fuck off.

> I know you read that. Get yourself the rest of the way hard and send me a picture. Make it good and I might let you come to earn my forgiveness. 

Kylo was undoing his jeans before he'd even finished reading the message. 


	5. a veg!verse valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 14th. 8:00am. Special delivery for ..... Kyle Ron? That's what it says on my paperwork, sir. Sign here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous tumblr prompt: "Hux presents Kylo with a giant V-day gift basked (with pink and red bows, hearts, etc.), but instead of being filled with chocolates, it's filled with beautifully gift-wrapped phallic produce." Links in the text NSFW.

_ > you’re a fuckin asshole _

 

> And a very good morning to you, too.

 

_ > SUCH an asshole _

 

> You’re welcome.

 

_ > these are not thankyou texts these are fuck-you texts _

 

_ > fuck you _

 

> Are you seriously trying to deny your proclivities? To me?

 

_ > that’s not the point and you know it _

 

_ > you know exactly what you did _

 

> I sent you a festive gift package I thought you would appreciate, and find useful in my absence.

 

_ > I HAD TO COME DOWN AND SIGN FOR IT _

 

_ > IN THE MORNING _

 

_ > IN THE STREET _

 

> In your underwear?

 

_ > ALSO NOT THE POINT _

 

_ > the packaging is NOT discreet. not at ALL. I was there on the doorstep half afuckinsleep while half the neighbourhood went by on their morning commute and everything’s just _

 

_ > hanging out _

 

_ > of this giant basket _

  

> I’m sure they all assumed it was the weekly organic produce box.

 

_ > with a bright pink bow on it??? _

 

_ > with a HEART BALLOON _

 

> Maybe you’re fucking the farmer. It’s really none of their business.

 

_ > HUX _

 

_ > you’re such an asshole _

 

_ > I don’t even know what this one IS jesus it’s got to be like 4 inches across _

_ > <IMG ATTACHMENT> _

 

> It’s a daikon radish.

 

_ > i don’t care what it is it’s going nowhere near my ass _

 

> Fine, it was a fairly optimistic inclusion. I’ll have to look up a turnip cake recipe. Shame to waste such a magnificent specimen.

 

> I see curiosity has overtaken your little attempt at outrage.

 

_ > wait wtf _

 

_ > this isn’t a real cucumber _

 

_ > it’s … bendy _

 

> Silicone.

 

_ > omfg [that website](http://selfdelve-shop.de/Garden-of-Eden:::2.html?XTCsid=tdlj93b9nbrndlss2464s9h9n0) they’re from that fucking website _

 

> I sent you the link quite some time ago, in a spirit of co-operation. I got tired of waiting for you to unveil a purchase.

 

> Considering what you’re happy to do with an actual cucumber I find it quite confusing that you’re embarrassed to acquire something specifically designed for the task.

 

_ > what’s this one? a mushroom?! _

_ > [<IMG ATTACHMENT>](http://selfdelve-shop.de/Garden-of-Eden/Fly-agaric::67.html?XTCsid=tdlj93b9nbrndlss2464s9h9n0)_

 

> Well, it’s marketed as fly agaric. Typically they have broader, flatter caps, this one is more like amanita virosa: same genus but deadly poisonous rather than hallucinogenic. Clearly the rounded virosa cap is more suited to insertion but the colours and connotations of fly agaric were thought more appropriate for the context. They’ve found quite an ingenious way of incorporating a flared base without sacrificing design, too.

 

_ > ……. ok? _

  

> You did ask.

 

_ > EGGPLANT _

 

> Yes, well done.

 

_ > im gonna be laughing too hard to put that anywhere _

  

> This is precisely why I sent a wide selection. To accommodate your immaturity and capriciousness.

 

_ > I know you’re rolling your eyes at me. I can tell. _

 

> I hardly make a secret of it.

 

_ > I also know you’re probably touching yourself in your sad little Holiday Inn room right now. I see right through your sneering _

 

> It’s a Marriott.

 

> And I am not.

 

_ > you’re not? that’s not why you sent me this? so i can entertain you. so you don’t have to charge pay per view porn to the company. _

 

> I do have an imagination, you know.

 

_ > and I bet I’m in it right now _

 

_ > bet i was when you ordered these. sitting with your cock and your credit card out thinking, yeah, kylo could take that one _

 

_ > I’m still in my underwear, just so you know. back upstairs, stretched out on my bed, looking through all these things you wanna put up my ass _

 

> Are you?

 

_ > <IMG ATTACHMENT> _

 

> So you are.

 

_ > and you’re squirming on your used polyester sheets _

 

> You’ve never stayed in a Marriott, have you?

 

_ > so you’re squirming on your 10000 thread count egyptian cotton sheets with the ferrarris embroidered on in 30 carat gold thread while the butler sucks your balls _

  

> <IMG ATTACHMENT>

 

_ > so you’e glaring in a p standard beige hotel room with a klimt print above the bed _

 

_ > and you’re wearing the free bathrobe and flipflops. wow, that’s so hot. really makes me wanna fuck a fruit basket for you _

 

> <IMG ATTACHMENT>

 

_ > ok that’s a bit better _

 

_ > do the other side too _

 

_ > harder like you like it _

 

> I am. Find anything you like yet?

 

_ > Im thinking the cucumber _

 

_ >for now _

 

> ‘For now’?

 

_ > i was thinking of trying the corn cob but it’s pretty big. I;d want some help. _

   

> What kind of help?

 

_ > I’d want your mouth _

 

_ > get you to suck my cock til i’m so close, get me really hot _

 

_ > fucking me on your fingers, then your tongue _

 

_ > til im so ready it’ll all just slide in _

 

> I’d need to get to work on you much earlier. The night before. Fuck you over and over, til you couldn’t take any more - then I’d plug you, you’d wear it all day to keep yourself open.

 

_ > oh i just found that littler plug _

 

_ > and more of the good lube wow you thought of everything _

 

> You’d do that, then?

 

_ > have you done that? _

 

_ > ?? _

 

> Yes.

 

_ > fuck that’s hot. did you go to work with it _

 

> Yes.

 

_ > thats really hot _

 

_ > what suit were you wearing? _

  

> What’s that got to do with anything?

 

_ > so i can picture you sitting at your desk in it while your ass is full and youre trying to ignore your boner _

 

_ > taking conference calls and typing and shaking important people’s hands _

  

> Is that what you think I do all day?

 

_ > hux _

 

> The blue Thom Sweeney. It’s a little roomier around the backside. Would you do it?

 

_ > yeah i mean it’d have to be on a day when im not training _

 

_ > like a tuesday? _

 

_ > wait not tuesday I have to see snoke tuesday i don’t want to have any sexual thoughts or feelings in his presence _

 

> Perhaps we don’t need to schedule this right now.

 

> Or mention your supervisor.

 

_ > like you wouldn’t get off on organising a sex schedule _

 

_ > like you don’t already have one _

 

_ > Monday 10am draw diagrams and add up numbers all day 8pm emmerdale 10pm 15 minutes of lonely masturbation pressing my face against the wall adjoining kylo’s room _

 

> Show me the cucumber. I’m leading a 10:30 seminar and I intend to have a shower and breakfast beforehand.

 

_ > <IMG ATTACHMENT> _

  

> That’s a poorly-composed photograph of you laughing.

 

_ > oooohhhhh my goddd i don’t know why im sleeping with you _

 

> It’s chiefly because I’m disciplined and well-groomed and you like to think you’re corrupting me somehow, despite evidence that I have a considerably more adventurous sexual repertoire than you. Do you plan on getting yourself off this morning or not?

 

_ > thats _

 

_ > that’s not why _

 

_ > also yes not that it’s any of your business really. _

 

> It is absolutely my business, if I’m ultimately the architect of it. Are you touching yourself?

 

_ > ultimately the architect _

 

_ > you aren’t moving my hand for me _

 

> I provided the tools, inspiration and encouragement.

 

_ > what just because you paid for these you think _

 

_ > wait _

 

> What?

 

_ > checking something _

  

> What are you doing? Where did you go?

 

_ > im looking at the website hux _

 

> Why are you doing that?

 

_ > hux the ‘grand’ fruit and veg basket costs 500 euro _

 

_ > and there are more things than that in here _

 

_ > there’s the gherkin and the nice lube and i don’t even wanna how much a fucking footlong monster radish costs _

 

> I find discussing money distinctly unarousing.

 

_ > oh my god you paid an extra 8 euro for the suction base on the corn cob _

  

> For your convenience in my absence.

 

_ > and SHIPPING _

 

_ > HUX _

 

> What?!

 

_ > hux you spent like £600 on a valentine’s gift _

 

> I did not. I absolutely did not.

 

_ > for me _

 

> They’re for both of us!

 

_ > oh my god _

  

> What.

 

> WHAT

 

_ > hux. whose dildos are these _

 

> You’re hysterical. If I was there I'd slap you.

 

_ > are they mine or yours _

 

_ > who do they belong to. _

 

> Stop this.

 

_ > hux are they _

 

_ > ours _

 

> I assure you I was thinking only of my own pleasure at all times. This was an entirely selfish act.

 

_ > where will we keep them. my room or yours. _

 

> I don’t know. Stop asking me questions.

 

_ > i can’t just keep them here and use them whenever as if they’re mine. I know you bought them. They’re not MINE. i can’t just walk into your room and get them if i want them either and im not going to ask your permission and _

 

_ > this is a nightmare _

 

> The dresser. In the hall. It was there when we moved in. It’s neutral.

 

_ > with the spare blankets and guest towels?? for when mitaka’s mum comes to visit? _

 

_ > focus, hux _

 

> I’m trying.

 

_ > try harder _

 

> Fuck off.

 

_ > you fuck off this is all your fault _

  

> I just wanted to watch you masturbate! You made it weird!

 

> Ren?

 

_ > well, i’m going to fuck myself with this silicone cucumber that belongs to nobody and try to forget this conversation _

 

> I’ll get on Skype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the items Hux orders actually exist, are very beautiful and can be perused [here](http://selfdelve-shop.de/Garden-of-Eden:::2.html?XTCsid=tdlj93b9nbrndlss2464s9h9n02), and pricing is accurate because I pride myself on research. One inaccuracy for the sake of humour: multiple reviews confirm SelfDelve's packaging is, in fact, very discreet. Hux rewrapped these in order to add further items, and embarrassment.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to commenters on the first 2 chapters, who pointed me to the website and the existence of the formidable daikon radish, and to raisedbycats and epiccuppycakes for read-throughs, feedback and general enabling.


	6. pomelo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous tumblr prompt: pomelo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea what a pomelo was. I am learning so much through writing this verse.

“Is that all you’re having? You’re going to need energy to take your beating. Here.” Phasma dumps a stack of toast in the middle of the kitchen table, followed by the peanut butter and a big glass of juice. She looks at Kylo expectantly as she shoves her own toast into her mouth, hand on hip. 

“You’re not my real mom,” Kylo pouts, taking a slice. 

Phasma sits, and continues her cheerful reminiscence of the last time Kylo came to her boxing gym. He got his ass handed to him by their new girl. She was stronger than she looked and already mad at Kylo for pushing by her boyfriend at the water fountain or some bullshit, though Kylo didn’t know the last part til he was 3 rounds down and bleeding from the nose. 

He must be buttering the toast aggressively or something because Phasma gives him a look and changes the subject. He knows he shouldn’t still be mad about it, but it’s just that… She’d only been training a couple of months. Kylo’s been training for years, in more than one martial art. He basically studies fighting at university. It’s his thing. So it just smarts. Being beaten that badly by a beginner. In his less bitter moments he wonders how the girl is doing now. She had good instincts. She could go far, with the right teacher.

Kylo shakes his head a little, tries to let it go. He eats his toast, lets Phasma’s talk about the kids she’s coaching distract him.

He’s starting on his fruit when Hux wanders in. Kylo startles: he hadn’t expected Hux to be home. He’s normally left for work before Kylo gets up. Probably before the sun rises, so he doesn’t turn to dust on the way to the train station. 

Kylo startles because the break in routine is weird for Hux, not because things with them are still weird, because they’re not. No weirder than usual. They’ve put the fruit basket thing firmly behind them. The cucumber did indeed help clear both their minds, over Skype to Hux’s Marriott and again when he got home. Hux outlined his solution briskly while he got dressed afterwards, not looking at Kylo, and sounding so rehearsed that Kylo couldn’t help but picture him sitting on the train home surrounded by crumpled balls of paper, rejected drafts of the Fruit Dildo Accords. Kylo has kept the cucumber, since he definitely invalidated the returns policy, and the corn cob as it was understood they both had plans for it - on condition that he does not use them on anyone but himself or Hux. That seemed fair enough, and stopped Kylo feeling obliged to offer Hux a hundred fucking dollars or whatever for them, which was really his only plan. 

They agreed a subclause clarifying that Hux does not need to be present for, or informed of, any solo use, and Hux took the rest of the basket. Kylo hasn’t seen any of them since and suspects a couple got returned. A little later he discovered Hux had also taken the expensive lube Kylo had opened and therefore implicitly owned according to the spirit of their agreement. The resulting argument and bad-tempered handjobs helped get rid of any more lingering awkwardness.

Hux is wrapped up in a purple robe that manages to make him look both very young and hopelessly old-fashioned. The deep colour and the morning sun make a sort of cartoon of him, skin milk-bottle pale, his hair startlingly orange, like he’s been coloured in by a kid. His hair is still drawn off his face. Kylo didn’t hear the shower running so Hux must have deliberately wet his hair and combed it back before entering the kitchen, as if anyone was going to give a shit. He’s absorbed in reading something on his tablet but, disappointingly, he manages not to bump into anything on his way across the room.  

“Morning,” he mutters vaguely. 

“That had better not be work,” Phasma says sternly. Hux has the day off? Wow. They probably had to force him to take his holiday, confiscate his pass and all his ties and kick him out into the street, weeping and begging.

“It is not work,” Hux promises solemnly, putting his hand to his heart. To the creamy-white V of his chest where the robe opens, smattering of pale hair just visible in the sunlight. “It is a newspaper, though seeing past the editorial line to the facts is starting to  _ feel _ like work.” He starts fussing with his coffeemaker, spooning in grounds and filling the kettle.

Kylo stills his left leg, not sure how long he’s been bouncing it underneath the table. They should get going soon, if they want to have plenty of time at the gym. He shovels the fruit down faster. 

“What is that?” Hux asks, wrinkling his nose and nodding at the bowl in front of Kylo.

“Pomelo.”

“What’s pomelo?”

“Google it,” Kylo says, not in the mood to be interrogated. He’s actually never had pomelo before, but picked one up at the market on a whim. It took a great deal of effort to get into it and at the good bits but it was worth it. So, the opposite of Hux.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Run out of Coco Pops, then?” He turns away, leaning back on the counter while he waits for the kettle to boil. He taps at his tablet, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

Kylo finishes eating, drinks the rest of his coffee as he and Phasma plan their morning - warmup, workout, other potential sparring partners who might be around. Hux potters around in the corner of Kylo’s eye, filling his coffeepot and arranging it on a tray with a mug and a plate of something on toast. He pours a glug of milk out into a little glass to take with him. He seems to be planning a long morning back in bed, and to hell with the crumbs. 

Hux puts away the milk and brings out the big carton of orange juice. He tops up Kylo’s glass, face impassive, before he picks up his tray and his tablet and leaves.

Phasma and Kylo blink at one another.

“He’s been under a lot of pressure,” Phasma says. 

Kylo eyes his glass like it’s started ticking. Trust Hux to still manage to fuck with him in such a brief window, and by doing something that’s theoretically nice. He had little opportunity to tamper with the juice. The carton is communal, and Hux seems to quite like Phasma and Mitaka. Hux could not have interfered with his glass. Clearly he is up to something, though. Something that will take time to play out, or he’d have stayed to watch. Kylo drinks the juice.

 

 

The next morning Hux outdoes himself by fucking with Kylo without even being in the room. There are three pomelos in the fridge, labelled KYLO in neat black marker. Before coffee, Kylo has to squint at them for a little while to be sure he did not buy them himself. 

It’s too early to try to work out Hux’s shit, and pomelos are pretty good, and these ones are free. Kylo eats a bowl of cereal, then a pomelo. He drinks a glass of juice. Someone bought the kind with extra pulp.

 

 

It’s the pineapple that breaks Kylo. He’s seen Hux in passing and stubbornly refused to ask him what his deal is, endured another breakfast ordeal with dressing gown and juice-pouring in silence, but something about the sight of the pineapple, just sitting there cheerfully with KYLO written on several of the leaves, is too much. It’s too early and this is too much fruit and it doesn't even seem like a sex thing and if Hux was one of those feeder creeps surely he’d be plying Kylo with sticks of butter and it all makes no sense.

 

_ > alright. tell me. _

 

> Tell you what?

 

All that text was missing was the halo emoji.

 

_ >tell me why you’re buying me produce that isn’t remotely phallic _

 

> Science.

 

_ >science. _

 

> I’m testing a hypothesis. You are assisting me.

 

_ >don’t people usually get paid for clinical trials. also, told about them. _

 

> I think you’ll find your compensation adequate. 

 

_ >this is v unethical _

 

> Eat your pineapple. 

 

Kylo eats his pineapple, and thinks. 

 

 

Hux darts into Kylo’s room at around eleven that night, without knocking, wearing the robe and a determined expression. Well, this is earlier than Kylo expected him. He just couldn't wait. Nice.

“Did you eat it?” Hux asks, hands on hips. His bossy stance falters a little as Kylo pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, and his eyes flick straight to his crotch. He's practically salivating. 

“Did I eat it,” Kylo mimics, backing Hux up into the door. “And if I didn't? Are you going to go without  _ testing your hypothesis _ ?” 

Hux scowls. “Ren, if you -” Kylo’s hands are at his waist, running his fingers under the robe’s belt, not moving to untie it yet. Hux falters again, swallows hard.

“Are you going to go,” Kylo continues, “Without finding out how good I taste now?” Hux's eyes widen, but then he smirks evilly. Not at all pissed to be found out. Thinks he's just going to get his own way now. Ha. 

“No, you've been looking forward to this too much,” Kylo says, watching Hux's throat. He rests a hand there, lightly, feeling the movement, pressing his thumb harder to Hux’s pulse. It's a shame he won't really be able to see it when Hux swallows - maybe Hux will let him film it, prop his phone up on the bed. Hux would like that, being able to watch himself later. 

Hux is getting hard, obvious beneath the thin material, and Kylo has a hypothesis of his own to check out. He unties the robe and lets it fall open. Yeah, Hux is naked underneath, maybe has been every time, and Kylo is assailed by the image of Hux bent over the kitchen table; of running his hands up the back of Hux’s thighs to lift the robe and expose his ass, slicked up and ready.

Kylo presses against Hux, only in shorts himself, lets Hux feel his cock hard against his hip. Hux presses back, already so hot and eager. 

“Is this how you've spent your days off, then?” Kylo asks, while Hux grips his ass and pulls them closer, rubbing up against him. “Thinking about my cock? My come?” Hux grunts, slipping a hand between them to palm at Kylo. “What a productive use of your time. Making a project of your desperation.”

Hux doesn't protest. Fuck. It usually takes him a while to get here, to that place where he'll take Kylo’s insults and like it. Where he wants to be pathetic and desperate. He must really have been winding himself up all week. Kylo pushes him back with hands at his shoulders.

“No, no,” Kylo says. “You had a plan. We’ll follow it.” Kylo takes a step away to give him room and Hux goes to his knees. He looks up expectantly, his obedience sending a thrill through Kylo as much his tongue darting out over his lips. He's infuriating, still, somehow, full of contradictions, simple and unnecessarily fucking complicated all at once. Kylo doesn't know if Hux is derailed, or getting exactly what he wants. 

“Go on then,” Kylo says, gesturing to himself.

Hux goes to work. He's almost vicious, as if he's determined to get Kylo off as quickly as possible, doing everything he knows will drive him crazy, his mouth firm and fast and sloppy wet. It's fucking great, sends Kylo’s head spinning. Hux knows just how to - 

This is all a mistake, this thing with Hux, Kylo thinks suddenly, looking down at his hands in his hair. He can't take any of it back. Hux will always know him like this. How to touch him, how to read his body. How to give him things he wants, how to withhold them. 

Hux makes a soft sound around Kylo’s cock and pulls back to lick the head, closing his lips around it like a kiss. Tasting, making sure he gets everything he came here for. 

“That's it,” Kylo tells him, keeps stroking Hux’s hair back so he can watch his face. “Don't miss a drop.” 

Hux looks up at him, his eyes dark, and Kylo pushes him off. He looks so stuck-up and prissy in his stupid old-guy dressing gown, so messy and slutty on his knees, his red face and wet mouth. Kylo gets a hand around his own cock, starts jacking himself fast, holding Hux still with the other hand gripping his hair. 

“Ren,” Hux pants.

“Quiet, or you'll get nothing.” 

Hux shuts up, sits back on his heels. He doesn't even touch himself, just watches Kylo with hungry eyes. Kylo comes into his waiting mouth, knees trembling, groans as Hux turns his face to take some of it on his cheeks, running down his chin onto his neck. 

Hux swallows, eyes closed, licking his lips. “How's it taste?” Kylo asks breathlessly, loosening his hold on Hux’s hair, combing it back into something like its regular style with his fingers. 

Hux draws a finger through the come on his neck, holds it out and beckons Kylo down. 


	7. plum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kylo's movie snacks are Inappropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from [cosleia](http://cosleia.tumblr.com) \- "messy."

Kylo Ren, if that is in fact his real name, has even more reprehensible ideas about appropriate snacks during films than the rest of the populace. 

The general state of affairs grows more lamentable by the day. Even a visit to the British Film Institute or a Picturehouse risks assault with the stench of nachos and Czech lager, the sound of some oaf rummaging around in their popcorn, presumably for the pieces which will project the most excruciating polystyrene  _ scrunch _ across the auditorium. On the rare occasion that one must stoop to an Odeon, slurping straws and sickly-smelling fizz abound; and, horror of horrors,  _ hot dogs _ , vile rubber creations doused in a putrid affront to the name mustard, despicable, reeking symbols of the elevation of spectacle over substance, of performing an Americanised ritual of “the movies” over appreciating the work one has paid to see.

Armitage would rather drink a gallon of nacho cheese than contemplate a Cineworld.

Today, Armitage cannot even sit in his own living room for a lazy Sunday’s  _ Big Sleep _ without being subjected to Ren ponderously plowing through a punnet of plums. Plums. Ridiculous. He has a large brown paper bag of them, presumably from the morning’s farmer’s market, and it is impossible to tell how many he has left, how much longer this must be endured. He is sitting cross-legged with the bag in his lap, so every time he gets a new plum he reaches down to rummage around his crotch. It looks horribly vulgar from where Armitage is sitting.

Phasma seems entirely oblivious, curled under a blanket and the crushing weight of a hangover on the other end of the sofa to Ren. Mitaka has never seen The Big Sleep before, a revelation met with unanimous horror and insistence on remedial action, and is clearly concentrating furiously in an adorable attempt to follow the plot. He sits straight-backed in the opposite armchair, no ‘nibbles’ to distract him. Armitage approves.

Ren has not only the blasted plums but a pot of tea, ginger by the scent Hux keeps catching, and a very small cup which requires frequent topping up. It is dwarfed by his monstrous hands. 

Ren pours the tea. He presses one finger delicately on the lid of the pot, sets it down again carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll break it. Then, soft rustle of the paper bag, out comes another plum. Ren brushes his thumb over it absently, eyes on the screen. 

Armitage’s fingers curl on the arms of his chair. Humphrey Bogart grows tired of Lauren Bacall playing games.

After an interminable amount of pointless caressing, Ren remembers he is holding something edible. He leads with his lower jaw, sinks his teeth in and curls his lips over the fruit, holds it in his mouth a second while he sucks at it, tries to get away clean. 

He is not successful. A trickle of pale juice runs down his thumb, and then of course his tongue is out, the whole obscene wet length of it, pressed to his own wrist, running up over his knuckles, back down to dart the point of it into the little crevices of his tendons before he finally puts it away, not a shred of self-consciousness. Then he drags his bottom lip in its path, comes away with his mouth sticky at the corners, the skin of his wrist shining damply. 

Armitage can see the stone in the middle of the fruit, exposed, soft flesh clinging to it in pale pink shreds he knows Ren will suck at, clean off with careful scrapes of his teeth and glistening pursed lips. 

He could have Ren, if he wanted to. Now. Rise with an affected yawn and some nonsense about checking on something for the office for tomorrow. Phasma would grumble half-hearted admonishments about work-life balance from beneath the blanket of shame. Mitaka would make a rabbit-in-the-headlights offer to stop the film until he returns. 

Ren would do nothing until Armitage summoned him. He’d come to his room scowling and whining, but he’d come, and he’d bring the plums as he was told. He’d undress as he was told, and he’d open his whore mouth for the bloody fruit until he was  _ dripping _ \-   

Bogart and Bacall are smoking cigarettes.

Armitage crosses his ankles, flexes his toes. He’s missing one of his favourite films for this distraction. Of course Ren hadn’t the simple foresight to bring through some kitchen roll. Of course. Or … perhaps he had foresight enough after all, Armitage thinks. He ensures his face betrays nothing of his sudden suspicion as he watches Ren draw each long finger out of his mouth, one by one, sucking the juice from them. Ren is actually rather conscientious about keeping the place clean, despite his myriad flaws as a housemate and human. He would surely have been concerned about dribbling on the upholstery. Unless he wanted a plausible excuse for this wanton display; unless he still fancies himself a manipulator. 

It’s not the  _ mess _ that’s the problem with Ren. It’s the  _ filth _ .

  
  


The debacle with the plums falls into the latter category, if not at the time then certainly when Armitage recalls it later. His door is locked, his lights are low and he’s warm and loose-limbed from a hot bath. He wasn't thinking about Ren at first, wasn't really thinking about anything, just enjoying the feeling of clean sheets, of his skin smooth and soft; he ran his hands over the thin, sensitive stretch from his hips to his groin, over his thighs and belly. He took his time but didn't deny himself anything, floated along until it felt right to take an easy hold on his cock, to reach for the lube. 

Ren trickled in. He couldn't say exactly when, but now, in his mind, his slick, trailing fingers have become Ren’s drooling tongue, his grip the firm press of Ren’s lips around him. The soft sucking sounds Ren made in the living room come back, and when Armitage rubs his nipple, scrapes his thumbnail back and forth over it, he sees Ren cleaning off the plum stone. Mouth gentle, teeth sharp, and so terribly  _ thorough _ . 

Armitage rocks up into his strokes, stretches his back in a slow arch to press into the pinch of his fingers on his chest. Ren rarely has the patience for this pace; Armitage rarely has the patience with Ren, and by now they would be rutting and cursing, sweating like racehorses, and the sheets would be crumpled on the floor with their clothes. Everything would be such a mess - 

Armitage grunts and squeezes his grip, stills his movement. If he’d wanted that … he’d have had it. He breathes, deep and trembling, puts the back of his hand to his burning cheek. He lets his teeth unclench, his muscles relax again, forgets Ren in the inventory of how his body feels right now. Not last Saturday night, not any of those nights before, not any night in Ren’s weirdly organised bedroom. Here, his own hands, everything exactly as he wants it.

When he’s getting back into a rhythm, head beautifully empty of anything but sensation, Armitage hitches up his leg and reaches for the plug. He takes a grip on the base, pulling down but not enough to take it out, circling it to tease his hole. It’s nothing elaborate, but it feels good having something to clench around. He works his cock in long, firm strokes, getting faster as the tugging sensation inside sends shivers of pleasure through him. He thinks of a mouth and tongue there, wet and hot, how Ren rubs around the rim with his thumb while he holds him open. No. Not Ren. It could be anyone. He’s not the only one who can do that. Fuck. 

It’s too late, and Armitage’s hips buck as he starts to come, groaning and trying to banish the image of Ren looking up at him, Ren between his thighs, lips red and wet and curled into that smile, telling him -  _ fuck -  _  telling him  _ baby, you taste so good.  _ Armitage tugs the plug sharply and the sudden stretch as it pulls out makes him gasp, shudder, his other hand frantic on his cock. He writhes, coming all over his hand and his belly, Ren’s fucking voice in his head calling him  _ that _ , making him feel that - that  _ bastard _ .

Armitage lies spent, heart pounding, pulling in big ridiculous breaths of air, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. This was  _ not  _ what he had in mind. Ren was not what he had in mind. This was not about him, or his bloody plums. 

Armitage sits bolt upright and thumps his fist into the bedroom wall.  

“Fuck you!” he yells, pointlessly, hoarse and humiliated.

“Fuck you too,” Ren calls back, infuriatingly mild, patient, almost bored.

“Fuck the both of you,” Phasma shouts, thumping down the corridor outside and closing the bathroom door rather more forcefully than seems necessary.

Armitage is still lying with his hands over his face when his phone beeps with a new message. He pats blindly at the bedside table until he finds it, and flips the ‘mute’ switch without looking at the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come see me on [tumblr](http://irisparry.tumblr.com).


	8. lime

Hux has been an asshole all week. He’s always an asshole, of course, but it’s been turned up to eleven. His pointed sighs and eye rolls have multiplied, and he was passive-aggressively cleaning the flat until about 3am Monday. On Tuesday Ivan texted Kylo, a wondrous occurrence until it turned out to be about what the fuck Hux’s problem is because he yelled at a trainee barista who forgot his extra shot.

Kylo drank the last of Hux’s almond milk on Wednesday and put the empty carton back in the fridge, and Hux didn’t say a word. He wrote a _note_ , put it in an envelope and left it with the rest of Kylo’s mail, and it was neat and concise and … evocative. He still can’t tell if Hux meant it all as a genuine threat or jack-off material, or both.

Mitaka has been blissfully oblivious to the weird atmosphere. He and Phasma have been planning his birthday weekend in Brighton for about a month, and Hux has gotten sourer and sourer as it’s approached. Kylo doesn’t know what that’s about. Hux and Mitaka aren’t best buddies but they get along well as far as he knows. Hux was an engineering major so they have that stuff in common, and they don’t really seem to have any problems sharing space.

Kylo travels later than everyone else, didn’t want to ditch training, jumps on the train out to Brighton after and finds his own way to the little budget hotel Phasma booked, with the help of Google Maps. He’s been in England a couple of years but there’s been more than enough of London to occupy him, and he hasn’t ventured anywhere else. After checking in and changing he makes his way up a hill lined with shops and cafes to the bar, finds Hux and Phasma outside in cloud of cigarette smoke.

Hux is leaning against the wall looking sullen while Phas looms over him with a serious expression. Interesting. Presumably she’s warning him to cut his shit out, at least for the night. Kylo wants to hang back and watch Hux take his scolding but Phasma spots him and backs off a little, waving a hand in greeting.

She’s sharp in a white shirt, suspenders and pressed trousers, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair is slicked back like Hux’s weekday look: Hux’s looks like he just rolled out of bed, in that way that probably took three products and half an hour. It’s odd seeing him out of his self-imposed uniform, in dark jeans and boots like a regular human being. Kylo had half expected another severe suit, maybe a bow tie or some shit. His black tank fits him annoyingly well - it’s not tight, exactly, but it suggests his shape in a way that makes Kylo imagine pressing his palms either side of his ribcage, smoothing them down to his hips.

He mentally kicks himself. Hux is probably not a prospect for this weekend, even if Kylo was interested, which he isn’t. He couldn’t get to sleep Thursday night and sent Hux a speculative pic, got nothing out of it but the “zzz” emoji and another one that looked sort of like a breaded shrimp.

“It just seems rather pointless,” Hux is saying, blowing a thin stream of smoke and not meeting Phasma’s eyes. “If Dopheld wanted to fuck a green-haired Guardian reader we could’ve gone up to Clerkenwell.”

“Will you stop?” Phasma snaps, raising a warning finger.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about but I’m sure she’s right,” Kylo says helpfully as he catches up to them. Hux gives him a poisonous look, grinding his cigarette out beneath a heel as if it deserves to suffer, and stalks back into the bar without a word.

Phasma turns her stern eyes on Kylo. “Don’t you start as well.”

Kylo holds up his hands. “I was backing you up! He’s being an asshole.”

She expels an exasperated plume of smoke. “And now so are you. Is this what I need from you this weekend, Kylo?”

Kylo shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling a bit awkward now. He doesn’t usually bitch about Hux when the man himself isn’t present to enjoy it. “He’s been off all week though,” he offers, torn between placating her and emphasising his completely valid point.

Phasma sags a little, something like concern bleeding into her voice. “Well, you know it’s hard for him coming back here.”

Kylo does not know this. “What?”

“This is news to you?” Phas takes a drag on her cigarette, raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were on intimate terms.”

Rationally, Kylo knows that she knows. They must, her and Mitaka, because the flat isn’t huge and Hux isn’t quiet. Her reference still feels sudden, exposing. _Intimate terms._ They’re not _intimate_ , they’re just fucking. Not even - she makes it sound as if there’s, like, a _thing_ to know about rather than - than unconnected incidents involving various degrees of nudity. As if Kylo should know shit about Hux’s moods and feelings. As if Hux _has_ feelings outside of pettiness and -

Phasma is looking at him, amused and gently judgemental, and clearly isn’t going to keep talking to make this any easier.

“He lived here,” Kylo chances, making connections in his mind as he speaks. Hux has a history here, and it is …. not happy? Hux is in his early thirties and must have had a life outside of his office and the flat and his periodic obsession with Kylo’s dick, but Kylo has not enquired and Hux has certainly not offered.

Kylo at once wants to end this conversation and run away, and to sit Phasma down and grill her. It can’t be anything horribly traumatic or Hux probably would have gotten a pass on this weekend. Maybe it’s just embarrassing. He should look Hux up on the local paper’s website. There might be photographs of him handcuffed naked to the pier or something. _MERMAN HOAXER UNMASKED. Local fetishist Armitage Hux (34, bitter) was on Friday night revealed -_

“Don’t ask him about it,” Phasma sighs, interrupting Kylo’s speculation. She puts out her cigarette and opens the door to the bar. “You’ll only make him worse.”

Kylo wasn’t going to ask. He _wasn’t._

*

 

Mitaka’s college friends are mostly gawky young men with an excitable air to them, as if they’ve had their curfew extended for the night and feel like anything could happen. Kylo has always thought of Hux as absurdly fresh-faced, but next to these guys he has a sort of weary air that puts years on him. Unamo has joined them - she’s one of Mitaka’s classmates, but also does krav maga at Kylo’s gym and they’ve bumped into one another a few times. Mitaka is mingling like his life depends on it, Phasma is at the bar and Hux is, well, Hux, so Kylo snags a chair near her, grateful for another familiar face.

Hux perches on the arm of a giant leather chair, not speaking to anyone, eyes just drifting around the room. His shoulders are tense, and whatever he’s sipping with that affected nonchalance is not relaxing them.

Kylo has been introduced to four people and forgotten four names when Phasma returns bearing a huge tray covered in tiny glasses, groans and cheers greeting her from around the table. Kylo obediently takes a shot and a wedge of lime, hoping this is a single symbolic slammer to start the night rather than the first of many. He doesn’t think he can carry all of these children back to the hotel. Hux is wrinkling his nose, but when Phasma shakes the salt cellar toward him threateningly he licks the back of his hand and holds it out for her to pour a line.

“I’m going to regret this,” Unamo sighs, salted hand held out in front of her while they wait for Phasma to do everyone else.

Kylo glances at Hux, whose face has gone oddly calm. As if he’s decided that whatever his problem is tonight, it’s worth seeing if tequila can solve it.

“I think we’re all going to regret it,” Kylo replies.

*

A couple of hours later the table in front of Mitaka bears an array of empty glasses - shot, highball, pint, margarita - and the remains of a rainbow sponge cake, tiny candles strewn among the crumbs. Mitaka is still picking at it, dragging his finger through clumps of icing. It is in no way sufficient to absorb all of the alcohol, and he keeps leaning his head on the shoulder of the guy next to him.

Hux, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected except for how each glass he finishes without descending into a blissful stupor seems to make him angrier. He’s fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing his legs, looking around like he thinks he’s being watched.

He is, as it turns out, because when he next goes up to the bar he is handed a monstrous pink concoction with multiple umbrellas, before he can even place his order. A guy with too many buttons of his shirt open lifts an equally lurid drink in a toast, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Kylo is transfixed. He vaguely wonders if he should go up there. Mitaka seems to be having a good time, and it would probably be better if they _don’t_ get kicked out of this place because Hux glasses a man for having the temerity to find him attractive. Hux’s face is blank and terrifying as he briskly removes the fripperies from the drink and dumps them on the drip tray. He lifts the glass to his mouth and drains it steadily, throat working, not a drop escaping, before putting it back down empty without so much as another glance at his benefactor.

“Wow,” Unamo says, “That was _cold._ ” Hux orders a brandy from the smirking barmaid.

*

Kylo and Hux are the last of the group out of the door shortly afterwards, making it feel like they’re shepherding their giggling flock. Kylo’s trying to keep his wits about him, doesn’t really go in for getting wasted, so he’s sort of drifted into the mom role, gathering up jackets people forgot and tidying up the glasses and crisp packets on the table before they go. Hux lags back because he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, presumably, having exhausted his capacity for socialising with a vicious argument about the EU with Thanisson earlier.

Hux is steady on his feet but he does look a little flushed now, so maybe the pink drink packed more punch than he’d expected. He glowers when Kylo holds the bar door open for him and theatrically ushers him through first.

“So rude,” Kylo tuts as they walk down the hill, back in the direction of the sea front. It’s dark out, and there’s a pleasant chill to the air, a freshness. “Two nice guys just trying to be polite to you this evening, and you can’t even show a little gratitude.”

“I imagine I shall have to be considerably ruder in this fucking meat market we’re headed to,” Hux snaps.

“You know it?”

Hux nods grimly.

“Is it nearer the hotel at least?” Kylo likes to know his way home, to have an escape route. That’s all.

“It’s on a corner further along the front.”

“You’ve been here before, then.” It’s a reasonable question, a casual question. It would be more suspicious if he _didn’t_ ask.

“A while ago,” Hux says, in a tone that does not invite further discussion. He speeds up his pace, drawing away from Kylo and toward the shambling group.

*

The club is massive, noisy, sticky-floored, and it quickly swallows up their group, the camaraderie of birthday cake and shots drowned in a pitching sea of sweat and Red Bull fumes. They reserved a couple of couches around a low table, but people peel off into the crowd in twos or threes, drawn by a favourite song or a beckoning stranger. Hux vanishes almost immediately after they arrive - for all his disparaging comments he still came, still paid the £15 entry fee, so maybe he’s headed to some secret backroom he used to frequent in whatever fucked-up time of his life he spent here.

Kylo hates to admit it, but Hux’s description of the club was pretty accurate. He dances with the women for a while, near the table, and has to fend off several handsy guys who don’t seem to read the having-a-good-time-with-my-friends-thanks vibe of their little group. Flagging down a bartender for some ice water around midnight, he’s feeling kind of tired and kind of old, and kind of like punching someone.

Hux flashes by in Kylo’s peripheral vision, as if he has an instinct for these baser impulses, for the moments to show up and encourage them. He’s skirting the heaving dancefloor, swift and intent, and Kylo’s feet are moving before he really thinks about it. Hux goes down a narrow corridor off the main room - it’s dotted with couples making out, a few green-faced people trying to catch their breath or their will to live, and they slow Hux down enough that Kylo sees the fire escape door shut to behind him. It must not be hooked up to the alarm or anything, and Kylo goes through it into an even narrower alleyway, the dark and quiet abrupt after the chaos of the club.

It lets out to the street at one end, distant car headlights passing by. At this end, a bare brick wall, and Hux is lighting a cigarette. He cups his hands around it, and the dim light from the little flame and the crack of the door picks out specks of glitter smeared along his cheekbone. He glances up, pocketing his lighter, registers Kylo’s presence but doesn’t say anything.  

Kylo’s still holding his plastic pint of water, half-full and sweating in his hand. He takes a gulp, buys himself some time while he thinks about why the fuck he came out here and what to do now. He doesn’t know what he expected, but finding himself alone with Hux in the dark has surprised him anyway. Hux hasn’t said anything mean yet and is clearly still having a bunch of complicated Brighton emotions. It’d be easier if he was puking or getting sucked off or something.

“Surprised to see you out here,” Kylo says eventually. “There’s still a really long line for you at the men’s room.”

“And you’re right at the back of it. Hope you brought a book.”

Kylo leans back against the wall. Hux smokes in silence. Music and the clamour of voices still leak through from inside, but behind it there’s the rhythmic white-noise of the sea, just audible, the kind of sound you can’t help but strain to hear. It’s strange here, a high rattling quality to it, the water rushing over pebbles rather than sand.

It occurs to Kylo that all the smoking is a bad sign. He’s seen a pack on the side in Hux’s room a couple of times, but he hardly ever leans out of the window with one, or walks down to the porch with Phasma. The scent never lingers on his clothes, or in his hair.

Kylo wonders if Hux smoked more when he lived here. He wonders how Hux got glitter on his face.

“I really hate this place.” Hux pushes a hand through his hair, holds it back for a second before he lets it fall back into the night’s artful dishevelment. He sighs and straightens up, walks past Kylo with the cigarette still dangling from his fingers. “Come on then,” he calls. “Hotel’s this way.”

Kylo watches him all the way to the mouth of the alley, til he disappears onto the street. He doesn’t turn, not even once.

Kylo tosses back the last of the water, ditches the cup and goes back inside.

*

There’s more tequila, inside, and when Kylo ferries six shots back to the table there are only four people still there so he downs the spare. Hux is a presumptuous asshole and Kylo doesn’t care about his deep dark past or his sparkly fucking cheekbone, or how his ass looked as he walked away.

He dances some more, drinks some more, and doesn’t think about when exactly Hux might have realised Kylo wasn’t following.

*

Mitaka is a lot heavier than he looks, or maybe it just feels that way with his other side supported by Thanisson who is also drunk off his ass and weak as a kitten, meaning Kylo basically carries both of them along the sea front at three in the morning. Phasma left at around one, shirking herding responsibilities, but according to Unamo she had a bottle of champagne in her hand and beautiful woman on each arm so he can’t really be mad at her.

Mitaka does not throw up in the foyer, in the lift, or in his bed, and Kylo is proud of him. He manages a glass of water before he passed out, which will make so little difference to how shitty he feels tomorrow morning but at least now Kylo can say he tried.

Kylo leaves Mitaka and Thanisson snoring blissfully in their twin beds, closes their door as quietly as he can. His room is 328, down the hall - Phasma booked them all at the same time. He walks softly along the garish purple carpet, past 324, 325, 326, stops outside of 327.

Kylo’s head is ringing slightly, whether from the hours of music or the drink or the sudden _lack_ of noise he has no idea. They’re at the back of the hotel so he can’t hear the sea, just the low buzz of the fluorescent lights. There's no movement from inside the room, no point in - in whatever it is he's doing, hovering here like this. Kylo suddenly deeply regrets the extra tequila, among other things.

He’s sitting with his back to the wall, hugging his knees, when his phone chirps and nearly gives him a heart attack. He fumbles it out of his pocket, flicks it onto silent.

 

>   
>  Is that you loitering outside?

 

 

_Yes._

 

 

 

>   
>  Fascinating.

Kylo watches for a moment or two. The three dots do not appear on Hux's side of the messages, and he puts the phone away. He should get up and go to bed. He should brush his fucking teeth.

The lock whirs and clicks and then Hux is looking down at him. Kylo looks back.

Hux folds his arms across his chest. He’s still dressed, though his feet are bare. “You're still here.”

“Yeah.” There isn't really anything else to be said about that.

“Can you stand, or shall I call for a porter?”

Kylo pushes himself to his feet in answer. Hux is biting his lip, his shoulders rising and falling. Kylo could wait for Hux to break, but he takes a step instead, then another, and then Hux has fistfuls of his jacket and his mouth is hot and vicious, and they’re staggering into his room.

“It’s pathetic,” Hux is telling him, panting between kisses and bites. “You always come back.” He’s walking Kylo back toward the bed, but he keeps stopping to shove him into the wall, press against him furiously and scrabble at his clothes. Kylo kicks off his boots, gets his hands under Hux's shirt, tries to keep up. “Why do you keep coming back?” Hux demands, and suddenly he’s pulling back with a palm against Kylo’s chest, wild eyes on his as if he really wants to know. As if this is what he really thinks is happening here, has been happening.

Kylo stares at him. This is either too fucked up for 3am in a Premier Inn, or exactly the right amount of fucked up. He has no confidence in himself as a judge right now. He does the first thing that comes into his head and reaches for Hux’s face, watches his brow crease and his mouth open sofly. Kylo rubs his thumb on Hux’s cheekbone, shows him the transferred glitter.

Hux looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, and then he sort of sags and starts laughing, shaking against Kylo and dropping his head onto his shoulder. Kylo laughs too, half bewildered and half delighted they're not going to actually have that conversation, and then they can’t stop, falling back onto the bed in a heap, kissing and undressing and laughing like idiots.

The fight has gone out of Hux but he doesn’t seem to want to mess around, and once he’s naked he slicks himself up quick and rolls Kylo on top. His body opens up easy and he lets out a long breath as Kylo pushes into him, eyes closing like relief is already washing through him. Kylo starts to move, slow at first, uncertain like he hasn't felt in a long time, and Hux corrects him gently but firmly with presses of his palms, hitches of his hips, shifts until they fit together better. He makes it pretty good, they both do, for all that they’re halfway to hungover and lost in something strange. Hux still curses him, like always, but soft against his neck, the words blurred at the edges. Neither of them last long and when they’re done Hux is laughing again, his lips fumbling against Kylo's, breath stuttering.

Kylo lies on his back and watches Hux get up and head to the bathroom, still naked, his long, pale legs unsteady. He wobbles into the door frame, holds up a middle finger when he hears Kylo snort. Kylo feels sort of great and sort of like trash at the same time. His mouth is dry and a headache is starting to press at his temples, but he’s warm and relaxed, and he’s not really thinking about anything. He listens to Hux stagger around the bathroom, run water and chuckle to himself, and has no idea what the hell is so funny. He’s asleep before he gets back.

 

*

 

Kylo wakes with a start, struck by a sudden bright light. Hux swims into focus, standing in front of the opened curtains with his hands on his hips. He’s fully dressed, shirt and slacks and shoes, hair swept back off his face.

“Get up,” he orders. “We have to be at bloody brunch in half an hour and you’re going to want to” - he makes a vague gesture with both hands around his hair, wrinkling his nose - “do something about all that.”

Kylo raises himself onto an elbow and pats his hair gingerly. “Right.” Hux has folded his clothes neatly and placed them rather pointedly on the nightstand. He gets up and starts to pull them on, still sort of on autopilot.

Hux perches on the little desk, hands clasped around a cheap white mug. Coffee. Coffee would be awesome right now, and food. Brunch had better involve fried things and a hefty potato element rather than arty stuff on little brioche toasts.

Hux sips from his mug, wincing at the substandard offerings of the tea tray. He watches Kylo for a moment before he clears his throat. “Ren," he begins. "You’re aware I am not your boyfriend, yes?”

Kylo is only halfway into his trousers at this point and has to hop backwards to sit down and do the other leg. “Uh, yeah?” He really is aware. God, it’s too early for this.

“Good,” Hux nods, glancing distractedly out of the window. “I tried that once. When I lived here. It doesn’t suit me.”

Kylo stands and pulls up his jeans. “Okay?”

“I thought I should make it clear.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t, you know. Think that.” Jesus.

“Alright then.”

“Okay.” Kylo folds his jacket over his arm. “I am glad I could help you work through your Brighton issues,” he says, in the most serious voice he can muster.

Hux gives him an unimpressed look. “Out.”

“You’re welcome.”

“ _Out._ ”

Kylo’s still grinning as he closes Hux’s door behind him. Being thrown out of someone's bedroom probably shouldn't be this reassuring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the idea for this floating around since two people left me prompts about the sea/ocean MONTHS ago. It is almost certainly not what either of them wanted. Apologies for the very minor role played by fruit here.


	9. banana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veg!verse will be one year old on 29th August (good god) and I really wanted to update for then, but none of my ideas had really been working ... then this one shambled into my head on Sunday and just?? Got written??

The museum’s courtyard cafe has reached that golden mid-afternoon stage when Kylo gets his best thinking done. Chaotic tour group lunches are finished, field trips have cleared out, and only people with particular study in mind can really stretch the place out to a whole day’s visit. The sky is clear blue outside, the sun is pleasantly warm through the glass roof after the heat of midday, and the armoury exhibits are fresh in his mind. Perfect.

The table pretty much counts as his ‘usual’ by now, tucked away beside one of the tall container trees, away from the bustle around the counter. He ate the overpriced chicken salad and three sides about an hour ago so the staff are satisfied he isn’t just here for the wi-fi and leave him be. He flits between typing and idly sketching with a notepad and pencil. Kylo has photographs of the main pieces he’s interested in from the online archive, got to take a closer look by appointment with one of the curators, but there’s something about the action of drawing, considering the components, translating them into lines on the page, that makes him think in a different way about a sword, refreshes him if he’s been staring at a screen too long. The best way to think about a sword is to use it, of course, but the museum has a very definite policy on that.

Kylo is just starting to really zone out, get lost in what he’s writing, when a shadow falls over the table. A large banana is dumped on top of his notes, and he looks up to see Hux setting down a tray with tea things and some sort of cake. He has his portfolio and leather laptop bag slung over one shoulder and looks exceedingly pleased with himself, presumably for breaking Kylo’s concentration.

Hux sits down and smiles at Kylo in a wide-eyed, vaguely maniacal way. “Good afternoon.” He lifts the lid of the teapot and starts poking around inside with a spoon.

Kylo watches him until it becomes clear that Hux isn’t offering any further explanation for his presence, at the museum or at Kylo’s table. “So you’re, what?” he asks, reaching for his half-empty latte. “Stalking me now?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I gave a very important and well-received presentation in the museum’s conference hall this morning,” he says smugly, replacing the pot’s lid and sitting back in his chair. “After the lunch, I decided to stay and look around.”

“You’re suddenly interested in weapons and armour?” Kylo says, still suspicious.

“Ren, you do know there are paintings here as well?” Hux says with exaggerated condescension. “Old Masters?”

Kylo had frankly forgotten that there were rooms other than the armouries. He isn’t sure if he’s even been upstairs, tries to recall while Hux is saying something pretentious about the porcelain gallery. They have clearly visited rather different museums. 

Kylo’s starting to get irritated, draining his coffee too quickly and clenching his fist under the table, nails digging into his palm. He’s comfortable here. He has a routine and a favourite spot in the courtyard and, usually, peace and quiet. Hux is intruding, casually and just to amuse himself at Kylo’s expense.

“What’s that?” Hux says, louder than his porcelain monologue, tapping a finger on Kylo’s notebook. Trying to get his full attention again. Child.

“It’s a sword,” Kylo snaps, feeling ridiculous as soon as he does it.

“I can see that,” Hux replies, an edge of annoyance in the obnoxiously cheerful tone he’s adopted since he sat down. He pours a cup of the tea, a slightly floral scent rising in the steam. “Is it a particular kind of sword?” he asks. “Does it have a name? Did it murder a king or something? Win a battle?”

Kylo stares while Hux carefully drops milk into his teacup from the tiny jug, frowning at it and pursing his lips. He is in a suit Kylo has never seen before, a dark three-piece: the jacket fastens with a short length of chain sort of like a cufflink, and makes him look a little broader. He has the shirt buttoned up all the way and no tie. It’s nice and very possibly fashionable, not that Kylo would know. It occurs to him that Hux might have bought it especially for his super-important presentation, which apparently went well; and then it occurs to him what Hux might be doing at his table. He’s … happy, or at least feeling a malicious pleasure in crushing professional rivals and proving his superiority. Tea and cake and pestering Kylo is what passes for celebration.

Brighton changed things. For all that it was awkward, the half-drunk half-hungover sex and then the morning after, since it’s been like the fresh feel to the air after a big thunderstorm. Lighter. It’s hard to ignore that this is something that they do now. Not to work off frustration, or out of spite, or to see how far they can get the other to go - or not only those things, anyway. They sleep together because they like it and they sort of like each other, sometimes. Hux is not Kylo’s boyfriend. He doesn’t really know what Hux is, or why a part of his mind keeps trying to freak out about it.

Hux stirs his tea and taps the spoon three times on the edge of the cup, puts it down on the saucer. He looks up at Kylo expectantly.

Kylo tells him about the sword. About the key variations in designs at the time, their suitability for different styles of fighting, who might have used them. Once he starts talking it’s hard to stop. Hux sips his tea and nods and doesn’t interrupt, save for a question about the pommel that demonstrates he’s actually paying attention.

When Kylo’s about done they lapse into silence again. It’s not uncomfortable, not quite. Hux seems satisfied, holding his cup in two hands and gazing around the courtyard at the sculptures and the windows into the galleries. Kylo types out a quick note, a new point he thought of as he spoke, something to look up when he gets home.

“You can eat that, you know,” Hux says, prods the banana.

“Thought you might want to save it for later,” Kylo says, lowering his voice as if the old couple a few tables over might somehow understand he’s not talking about snacking on the train. The fruit thing feels more like an in-joke than a potential blackmail opportunity these days. He’s not sure when that happened.  

Hux smiles. “A good idea, but not necessary. I kept the silicone one, if that would interest you tonight.”

Kylo feels himself blush from the tips of his ears, and Hux’s smile widens in triumph. The fucking fruit basket. This was obvious entrapment and Kylo should be furious, but his face continues to betray him and he’s smiling back like an idiot. He snatches up the banana and peels it almost to the bottom, so he can take a good long mouthful and watch Hux’s eyes widen. The trouble chewing is worth it.

“I have to go back to the office for a bit but I should be home by seven,” Hux says, sitting up straighter and tugging back a cuff to look at his watch. “Will you wait in my room?”

“Yeth,” Kylo says, too quickly, through a mouthful of banana.

“Excellent,” Hux says.

He looks terribly smug again, and that’s probably why when Kylo swallows, finally, he has to ask.

“Hux, is this a date?”

Hux has started on his cake, shoves in a forkful and chews thoughtfully, clearly to buy himself time. He narrows his eyes, and Kylo can practically see the panicked cogs turning in his head. Kylo meant the question to be funny. He reaches for his coffee, remembers too late that the cup's empty and fakes a sip anyway, thinking that he and Hux probably fucking deserve each other.

“Well,” Hux says, eventually. “We drank beverages, listened politely to talk about one another’s interests and activities, and then we negotiated sexual activity.” He laughs and Kylo can’t help but laugh with him, watching him get pink in the cheeks. “That sounds like a date, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Kylo says.

“Look, Kylo,” Hux puts his fork down, and passes a hand back over his hair, still looking amused. Kylo wonders if using his first name for relationship discussions will be an ongoing trend. He wonders how many more they’ll have to have. This is all terrifying, in a giddy way that he’s trying to let himself enjoy. “I still don’t want, you know,” Hux waves a hand, grimacing. “Hearts and flowers and fidelity and all that. But perhaps we don’t always have to argue first.”

“I  _ like _ to argue,” Kylo protests, half-serious. They’ve sort of drifted into something else, and it’s good, but part of him wonders if it can last without the antagonism. If it’ll still be as hot.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll keep up many of your objectionable personal habits and we’ll have plenty of cause to keep doing it.”

Oh, thank god. “Well, I’m sure you’ll keep being an asshole for no good reason and then we’ll have further cause.”

“Well, quite.” Hux stabs at his cake.

“I’m going out with a guy from college on Friday,” Kylo tells him. “You should probably know.” Clarke was in Kylo’s first year medieval history class, and they bumped into each other at the library last week with the undergraduate awkwardness well behind them.

Hux nods. His shoulders visibly relax, as if this is evidence Kylo isn’t secretly out to marry him. “I appreciate that. You’re going to be careful, of course.”

“Of course!”

“While we’re sharing,” Hux says, suddenly, leaning in and pointing with his fork, “Did you ever get anywhere with that chap from Starbucks? Pierced tongue, dreadful hipster moustache?”

“Ivan?” Ivan sat and chatted with Kylo all through one of his breaks a little while back. The conversation didn't take the turn he'd been hoping for. “He's married. Lives with his husband in Newington Green.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Hux says politely, through a mouthful of cake.

“They have a miniature Schnauzer.” The dog is actually pretty cool, and Kylo just doesn’t have it in him to be bitter after looking at so many pictures of her.

“So you never got to see the rest of that tattoo,” Hux says wistfully.

“We may never know.”

“Damn.”

 

*

 

Hux gets home at 6:55 pm and by 7:05 he has Kylo naked on his bed, which might be a record. He goes no further than his shirtsleeves himself, stands looking down at Kylo while he rolls each one above his elbow like he’s about to put in some hard work. Sometimes Hux seems to take sex  _ so _ seriously, as if there’s going to be a performance evaluation feedback session afterwards. Maybe he would like that, making Kylo fill out some forms. Hux kneels between Kylo’s legs where they hang off the edge of the bed, lifts them over his shoulders and gets a high rating for Attitude by going straight for his ass. Kylo hadn’t been waiting long enough to prep himself, but Hux had been so smug earlier, in the mood to show off, that Kylo was pretty sure he’d be getting plenty of his mouth.

He keeps pulling back for nips of teeth on Kylo’s thighs when he feels him getting close, waiting til his breath slows and he starts to squirm for more before going again. Kylo has no idea what the fuck time it is anymore, both hands over his face to muffle his moans as Hux switches up, takes his cock in his mouth this time. If he watches he’ll come, and they’re nowhere near done. With his eyes squeezed shut it feels like Hux is everywhere, wet and warm around his dick, fingers sliding inside him, other hand smoothing up over his chest to find his nipple. He keeps a slow rhythm, up and down, push-pull, and sometimes he makes these hot little groaning sounds that have Kylo jerking up into his mouth.

A couple more twitches of Kylo’s hips and Hux pulls off, leans back, and Kylo lifts his hands to look at him: he’s obviously hard in his pants, hair falling into his reddened face. “Are you ready?” he asks, reaching to open the drawer under the bed.

“ _ Yes _ , fuck.”

The dildo is bright yellow, curved and lifelike, the round shape with ridged edges. Hux holds it by the stalk end to slick it up and Kylo is too turned on to find it at all ridiculous, his hands curling into fists in the sheets.

“Come on,” he blurts out when Hux pushes wet fingers back into his ass, so ready for more than that, and Hux bites his thigh again.

“Don’t you think I’m impatient too?” Hux asks him, low and a bit unsteady, pulling his fingers out and lining up the dildo. He holds it there, the tip barely inside, just enough for Kylo to feel it holding him open. “Don’t you think I thought about this all afternoon? Having you like this? Watching you take it?” Kylo can feel his face and chest flush hotter. Hux has never told him this sort of thing before, not so unequivocally.

Hux doesn’t wait for an answer and he bites his lip as he slides the dildo in with that fierce look of concentration that he gets. Kylo watches his face, breathes out. The irregular shape feels different to the other things they’ve tried, but the bend is what makes him almost yell out, curving with his body and pressing the tip just where he wants it. Hux adjusts his grip and moves the toy so it drags inside Kylo, keeps hitting that spot, rubbing as he pulls out, pushes back in, a slow, rocking pace that has Kylo seeing stars, so taken apart by it that he can hardly strain up for more. He wants to get a hand on his cock, sticky against his belly and so hard, but if he does it’ll all be over. It’s the best kind of agony.

Hux keeps at it, gritting his teeth, and the dildo must be getting slippery because he keeps changing his grip and eventually he stops, with a grunt and a last thrust. He pulls it out and Kylo lifts up on his elbows, sees Hux unbuckling his belt, fumbling his trousers open: he just lets them hang at his hips, pulls his cock out of his underwear and gives it a quick couple of strokes. When he reaches for a condom from the drawer Kylo realises he’s keeping all his clothes on. He groans and falls back onto the bed and then Hux is clambering over him all eager and graceless. Having him like this while he’s in his best new work clothes is so arousing Kylo can’t even string together a taunt about dry cleaning.

Hux doesn’t bend like the dildo but he knows Kylo’s body well enough, pushes his legs up so he can get deeper. It’s so good having him so close, seeing what watching Kylo has done to him, how he’s burning up and already starting to tremble. His pants are shoved down awkwardly past his ass but he still has his shorts on, the fabric damp with sweat where it’s pressed between their bodies. Hux’s thrusts get shallower, faster, sure sign that he’s losing it, and he looks down, watches, jaw hanging slack, while Kylo gives in and grabs his own cock. Some other time he’ll hold off, make Hux go first, but now he can’t wait.

He can feel Hux slow, trying to give Kylo the long, deep thrusts he wants while he comes, and he grips Hux’s ass with his other hand so he can grind up against him, come on his shirt, really ride it all out. Hux collapses down on top of Kylo before he’s totally done and his hips jerk with his own orgasm. Kylo can feel his mouth opening and closing in silent gasps, lips moving against his chest.

Hux picks himself up quickly after. Kylo’s heart is still hammering while Hux is disposing of the condom and making theatrical noises at the front of his shirt, as if he didn’t ask for it to get messed up. He doesn’t take it off, though. He sits back in his desk chair, cock tucked away but his pants still hanging open, that smug look back on his face.

Kylo rolls off the bed and onto his feet, steps into the sweatpants that will do for the bolt back to his own room - Hux will want the bathroom first - and gathers up the rest of his clothes. “I knew you kept more stuff from that basket,” he says, casually prying. Hux has closed the sex drawer so he can’t get a look inside.

Hux just nods, smiling placidly, no doubt deliberately leaving room for speculation. He drinks from a bottle of water, and his eyes drift idly over Kylo’s chest. Kylo shakes his head, at himself more than anything, and turns to go.

“What will you tell him about me?”

Kylo stops at the door with his shirt and socks and shorts bundled up in his arms. He turns around. Hux is holding the water bottle almost defensively in front of him, pressed to his mouth though he isn’t drinking. He means Clarke, on Friday.

“I’ll … tell him,” Kylo says slowly, working it out as he says it, “that I’ve been seeing someone for a little while.” Hux’s eyes widen. “And that we’re not exclusive.” That seems to sum it up, simpler than it’s been in his head. Except. Kylo swallows, clutches his clothes closer. “And that I’m not going to stop.”

Hux takes three huge gulps of the water, as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his face. He nods too many times, and when Kylo recognises his relief he feels it too.

“Alright,” Hux says, and he nods again. “Alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo are on their impromptu date at the [Wallace Collection](http://www.wallacecollection.org). I have also never been upstairs to the paintings and porcelain. Hux's suit is Vivienne Westwood (I'll add the link if I can find it again) and he did indeed buy it specially. And, in case you missed it, the fruit basket is a real thing and from [this website.](http://selfdelve-shop.de/Garden-of-Eden:::2.html)


	10. ginger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm back on my bullshit. Two things before we get going: 
> 
> 1) Though it is inevitable that TLJ will influence my writing, and events of the movie certainly have in this chapter, no violence will be occurring in this 'verse. Just in case you were worried. I have explored that stuff a bit in 2 ficlets so far (also on ao3), and probably will again. But not here.
> 
> 2) Despite the title, this chapter does not contain figging. Sorry.
> 
> Oh and also I wrote this listening to “Every Time The Sun Comes Up” by Sharon Van Etten, “I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You” by Tom Waits and of course the Velvet Underground’s Sunday Morning. So, if you wanted to, you could do that. Idk.

Kylo takes one look at Hux on Sunday morning and confiscates his espresso. 

Hux splutters in protest when Kylo snatches his mug from the coffee table, but he doesn’t get up to follow him into the kitchen and yell. That’s even more alarming than Hux’s ashen face and the pathetic coughing that woke Kylo in the first place. The black coffee is so thick that Kylo worries it’ll clog the drain when he empties it out. He rinses it away and fills the kettle. 

There’s a good bit of fresh ginger left from the week’s cooking, and he grates it while the water boils. Lemon juice goes into a clean mug, and honey, and after letting the ginger steep for a bit Kylo strains the hot water through into the mix. As an afterthought he stirs in some cinnamon, in case the ginger kick is too much for Hux’s thoroughly English tastebuds. 

“Here. This will actually help.” He holds out the tea. Hux gives him an evil look, but he takes it anyway. He’s still in a heap on the sofa, legs drawn up beneath him, the throw from the back draped around him like a too-big cloak, and Kylo can just see the collar and cuffs of his blue pyjamas peeking out. It’s raining outside, adding to the melancholy scene, and some old black and white movie plays on the TV, nothing Kylo recognises.

“It will help most if you drink it,” he says, sitting next to Hux. “Instead of glaring at it.”

Hux sniffs. “I don’t suppose there’s whiskey in here.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

Hux takes a sip, grimacing as he swallows, smacking his lips and running his tongue over his teeth. He scowls down into the cup. 

“It’s quite nice,” he says gruffly.

“Told you.”

Hux sighs and leans back against the back of the sofa. He drinks a little more of the tea, and slowly but surely more and more of his weight settles against Kylo.

“Don’t you usually go and run laps or something on a Sunday morning?” Hux asks. He turns his head to speak to Kylo, and it’s quite unnecessary with them already so close, but then he doesn’t move it back and he’s sort of leaning on his shoulder.

Kylo looks at the grey sky through the rain-blurred windows, then back at Hux. 

“I don’t feel like it today.”

  
  


They sort of drift into watching the movie and Kylo hardly dares move in case he accidentally dislodges Hux, or gives the impression that he’s trying to. It takes him a while to relax and start breathing normally again, letting his shoulder gently rise and fall, taking Hux with it. It’s not cuddling. It’s definitely not cuddling. No arms are involved, not really. Arms are required for cuddling, active engagement of arms.

Kylo doesn’t remember being this close to Hux - or to anyone, really - for this long without sex being either imminent or very recently concluded. He hadn’t especially felt it was missing from his life, hadn’t thought to seek it out this morning. Kylo has been out training in worse weather, but then he looked at Hux all snivelling and pathetic and just didn’t want to leave him alone. 

It turns out, Hux didn’t really want to  _ be _ alone either. He must be delirious, his usual defences lowering with his immune system. Hux is apparently comfortable, warm against Kylo’s side, sniffling and drinking his tea. The sweet, spicy scent of it seems to fill the room, and the rain is a constant soft patter in the background.

When Hux’s mug is empty he shuffles about and leans forward to leave it on the table, and Kylo thinks the strange little interlude is over. Hux, however, settles back even closer to Kylo, their thighs pressed together, and when he rearranges the blanket around himself the corners drape over Kylo too, his shoulder and his lap. It could be an accident. Kylo looks down at Hux and sees his cheeks are pinker. It could be the tea. 

Kylo hopes he isn’t expected to have an opinion about the movie later, because he’s not really taking it in. Bette Davis is being awful to someone, so Hux has probably seen it a dozen times already. Kylo tips his head against Hux’s, turns his face into his ungelled hair, and Hux makes a little sound that might be a cough, might be some sort of pleased hum. Kylo breathes, and tries not to think too much.

Inevitably, they both get a bit fidgety. Kylo didn’t actually have breakfast before he made Hux’s tea and his stomach starts complaining noisily. One of Hux’s legs seems to be falling asleep, because he keeps twitching it and kicking Kylo in the ankle. Eventually, Hux sits up and stretches. 

“I could murder some more of that tea,” he says. “Unless you’re getting invested?” 

Kylo shrugs, not wanting to seem too eager to leap up from the sofa, but he  _ is  _ hungry. “Alright then.”

Hux follows him through to the kitchen, trailing the blanket from his shoulders like some hungover emperor. “Addison’s a shit, Eve gets her own stalker, Margo deserved better,” he says. “In case you were wondering.” 

Kylo can’t remember who any of these characters are, so he makes a sort of amused non-committal noise that seems to satisfy. Hux still sounds throaty, but has perked up a bit. He potters aimlessly around the kitchen while Kylo makes peanut butter toast and more ginger tea (in a pot this time), peering suspiciously at the ingredients and generally getting in the way in a weirdly charming fashion.

He sits down cross legged on the floor when they return to the living room, in front of the coffee table. “Risk?” he asks brightly, and it takes Kylo a minute. They have a stash of board games under the table, and he wonders if Hux’s sickness has all been a ruse to emotionally blackmail Kylo into playing with him. Hux is not only a bad loser but a bad winner, crowing and smug and thoroughly ungracious. Phas still refuses Scrabble if Hux is involved, and occasionally refers darkly to a ‘Monopoly Incident’ Kylo is afraid to ask about.

“I’m not sure that’ll be very restful,” Kylo says warily, sitting at the opposite side of the table.

“Nonsense, “ Hux coughs, already getting the box out. “It will keep my mind active.” Kylo raises an eyebrow, his mouth full of toast. “Look, my first idea for how we might pass time with the flat to ourselves involved being able to breathe through my nose,” Hux grumbles. “This is more realistic, I’m afraid.”

Kylo watches Hux set the game up with the ease of long practice, shuffling cards and arranging little plastic men with cannons and horses. Kylo has not played in many years, but he reasons that he’s in the middle of an essentially martial education and can probably pick it up again pretty easily. He knows a fair amount about how one might try to conquer the world.

On his first turn he takes a few territories in Europe and Asia, spreading his troops out quickly with some lucky rolls of the dice.

Hux smiles, and reinforces Indonesia.

  
  
  


Around an hour later Kylo agrees to make Hux another pot of tea, mainly because if he stays in the living room one more minute he’s going to flip the board. Hux has been holding Australia and South America, getting a shitload of troop reinforcements every turn, and advancing swiftly up North America to mount devastating raids on Kylo’s threadbare Asian empire through Kamchatka. He is definitely feeling better, and now he’s trying to be  _ helpful _ , dispensing wisdom from under his fucking blanket _. _

_ Aggression is good, but must be deployed more strategically, Kylo. It’s all very well taking a continent, Kylo, but you need to hold it. You’re too reckless, Kylo, you stretch yourself too thin. _

Kylo slams the fridge door, the contents rattling. If he uses far too much lemon juice in this batch of tea, it’s entirely accidental.

  
  
  


“That’s your move?” Hux asks innocently. “You’re sure?”

“What?” Kylo snaps, “What’s wrong with my move?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Hux says, drinking the last of his tea and setting down the cup. “Just checking that you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Kylo commits significant forces to a final push into Greenland, and watches them all dashed against Hux’s stalwart defences. 

He has one army left to continue the attack. If he is not successful, Hux will crush him on his next turn. Kylo grits his teeth and weighs up the odds.

“Holding the dice very tightly won’t enable you to control them with your mind,” Hux says, and Kylo has had enough. He drops the dice and darts around the table on hands and knees, crawling over Hux and bearing him down onto the carpet. 

“What are you doing?” Hux squawks in outrage. 

“Clearly all your tactical talk has me overwhelmed with lust,” Kylo says, scrabbling the blanket off him.

“I’m unwell,” Hux laughs, grinning up at Kylo from his back. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

Kylo lowers himself until their chests are touching, Hux’s already starting to heave with excitement. “That won’t be necessary,” he says, and crawls backward to settle between Hux’s legs. He pushes up his shirt, kisses his belly.

Hux elects to graciously accept servicing, wadding the blanket up behind his head so he can watch. He lifts his hips with a little groan, letting Kylo take down his pyjama bottoms. 

“Just don’t think this means you’ve won,” he warns.

“But this is an excellent strategy,” Kylo argues. Hux isn’t wearing underwear. Nice. Kylo kisses the hollow of his hip, cupping a hand gently over his hardening cock.

“It lacks your usual directness,” Hux says pointedly, rocking up against Kylo’s hand. 

Kylo licks up to the tip of Hux’s cock in a slow stripe, and Hux sighs. “And yet I have you at my mercy,” Kylo observes.

“This is your trouble,” Hux says, reaching down and stroking Kylo’s hair back off his face. “You don’t know when to hold off and when to  _ press your advantage _ \- fuck.”

Kylo cuts him off by closing his mouth around his cock, and starts sucking him as slow as he can bear. It’s not his usual style, but he’s been coddling Hux all morning. This is a natural extension. It turns out there’s something hot about taking their time in the middle of the day, in the middle of the floor. The rain patters on outside, cloudy sky turning the sunlight dim and strange, and they have nowhere else to be, nothing else to think about. 

Kylo keeps going until Hux is making soft, breathy little moans, his fingers spasming in Kylo’s hair, and then he pulls off, licking his lips.

“Say it.” 

Hux sits up on his elbows, dazed and flushed. “What?!” 

“Say I’m a fine general. A great leader.”

Hux falls back down onto the blanket. “You’re deranged,” he whines. 

Kylo bites his thigh. “Such insubordination.”

“You are not my leader,” Hux laughs, and it turns into a spluttering cough. He presses his hands over his face, groaning in frustration. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Kylo pushes Hux’s legs wider, so he can rub at that sweet spot between his balls and his ass. “Looks like I’m in charge now.” He’s got an easy grip on Hux’s dick, though his hand is still, and Hux bucks up desperately, trying to get him to move. 

“Kylo,” Hux croaks, muffled from behind his hands. “For God’s sake - ”

Kylo withdraws both his hands, taking the opportunity to palm his own neglected dick through his pants. Hux looks good spread out on the floor, half-dressed, his hair a mess. Begging. “What was that?”

“You’re a genius! You’re incredible! You’re Alexander reborn! Now  _ please _ \- “

Kylo falls back on him greedily, sliding his hands beneath Hux, lifting him a little so he can cradle his ass and take him deeper. Hux’s breath gets so wheezy Kylo starts to worry he might have a coughing fit instead of coming, but his thighs are trembling and then he’s done, cursing Kylo’s name like he always does. Kylo crawls up and over him on his elbows, ducking to kiss him while Hux shoves his pants down past his ass and jerks him off. 

It wasn’t spectacular, but it was … something, he muses while they’re hauling themselves back up onto the sofa, Hux wiping off his belly with the box of tissues he already had handy. A pretty quick finish, but he feels good, warm and proud when he looks over at Hux’s sleepy, satisfied face. 

They’ve never done anything in the communal areas of the flat before, and neither of them are under any obligation to vacate the other’s particular space now. They sit, shoulders leaned together, and it’s almost comfortable.

“Alexander got a lot of dick, right?” Kylo asks.

Hux wrinkles his brow. “He and Hephaestion were ‘one soul abiding in two bodies.’” 

“That’s not really the same.”

Hux pulls another tissue out of the box and blows his nose loudly. “It sounds dreadful.”

“I’m probably going to get your cold now,” Kylo realises. 

“You’ve nobody to blame but yourself.”

“It was worth it,” Kylo says, throwing an arm around Hux on impulse and tugging him closer.

“What?” Hux jerks, half alarmed and half amused.

“You know,” Kylo says. “To win the game.”

Hux punches him lightly in the ribs. “You did not win the game.”

“Show me in the rules where it forbids head.”

Hux pulls the blanket up from the floor and over them both. “Show me in the rules where it says swallowing is a victory condition.”

“Your opponent conceding is.”

“I did no such - “

“Shush.” Kylo grabs the remote control and flips the TV back on.  _ Kagemusha _ is on FilmFour. “I’m trying to watch the film.”

Hux concedes. He’s asleep in about ten minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wandering around WH Smith yesterday looking for the new visual dictionary and in the back of my mind casually musing on how the new dynamic might be reflected to a cracky modern au existing in a weird twilight between benarmie and kylux, and then I saw Risk on offer in the Christmas board game display and said "shit" softly to myself. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr with the same username.


End file.
